Knowing Is Half The Battle
by truglasgowgal
Summary: She never believed you could belong to someone until she was alone with him at night. The name fell from his lips like a tattoo branded on his skin, like tags chained around his neck. S4 spoilers.


I've neglected this fandom terribly over the past while, but I'm hoping to return to it – obviously. I found this in my archive of unfinished work and decided to try finish it off.

Hope you enjoy…

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**Title:** Knowing Is Half The Battle  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. The title is from the G.I. Joe quote.  
**WARNING:** SPOILERS FOR THE NEW SEASON  
**Summary:** She never believed you could belong to someone until she was alone with him at night. The name fell from his lips like a tattoo branded on his skin, like tags chained around his neck. Eva didn't know who the girl was, but she knew enough to know, truly, Chuck belonged to Blair.

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"…_there's a soul somewhere  
who's leading me around  
I wonder if she knows  
which way is down__…"  
__**Ben Folds Five, 'Evaporated'**_

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He made her feel special.

He picked her; plucked her from that hole of a place and whisked her away to Paris.

She backed him up against the wall and kissed him; held onto him like he was all she had, pressed her lips against his like he held the only oxygen left in the world.

And he kissed her back; that was what mattered.

Why shouldn't she kiss a handsome man in a beautiful city?

As if she didn't know, the answer came to her that night, like it always did.

The demons that remained latched onto him gave warnings that he'd never belong to her. The ghosts that lapped at their heels with every step they took together provided the reminder that he wasn't hers to keep.

His heart would never truly reside with her; not when it was still in the hands of another.

"Blair."

It started out a murmur, a mere rustle of the sheets. Then it progressed: his voice getting louder, his actions rougher; until he shot up in bed, sweat beading along his hairline, eyes wide with fear and loss, the regret as plain to see on his face as the longing his once-upon-a-time left in his heart.

His breathing was ragged, his voice hoarse with the effort of screaming her name on end with no hope for a reply.

He cast a glance over her form, found her still, and took a deep breath in, gulping down the air like he'd been deprived of the very thing he needed to live.

After a short while he lay back; head falling soundlessly into the plush pillow, he grappled blindly for her hand.

Clutching it tightly, her palm stuck to his with perspiration, and he pressed a kiss tightly against her skin. He situated their entwined fingers above his heart, and she felt his nails dig into the flesh beneath her touch, anchoring them there.

In their empty hotel room, with only the sound of their mingled breaths and the moonlight casting shadows across them to shelter them from the outside world; she could pretend she was all he needed.

She exhaled, moved closer towards him and curled her hand around his that bit tighter.

His fingers felt wet under hers, the smell of blood swirling in the air around them; the very thing that kept his heart pumping beneath their overlapping palms spilling freely onto the bed-sheets where they lay.

She was part of his sacrifice now, and she didn't utter a word.

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_"But the tigers come at night_  
_With their voices soft as thunder_  
_As they turn your hope apart_  
_As they turn your dreams to shame."_  
**_Les Miserables, 'I Dreamed a Dream'_**

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She should've known it wouldn't change, that she couldn't compete.

She'd been there that day in the hospital; when he'd roused from his deep sleep and the first word on his lips had been her name.

There was a ghost of a girl who clutched his heart between bloody fingers and called out to him in the dead of night.

And when daylight came upon them, she was too blonde, too caring, too real. She might've been what his eyes sought out in a busy market square in Paris, or even the hand he held as they walked the streets of Manhattan. She wasn't what his heart bled for every night; she wasn't who he cried out to be near him.

He cared for her, she knew he did; but he loved another. He loved this girl so deeply that he tried to claw the feeling out of himself every night; tried to lose his voice with the strangled repetition of her name the last thing to fall from his lips.

The signs were all there, and he'd warned her from the beginning; he wasn't hers, he belonged to another.

She should've known.

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_"I saw it all again_  
_fading memory became clear to me_  
_I try but I can't say_  
_that I'm yours for good."_  
**_Finger Eleven, 'Awake and Dreaming'_**

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_**The End.**_

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Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think.  
Steph  
xxx


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